


Two Scurrilous Rogues

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mistaken identities, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One summer day, Fingon manages to convince Turgon to go for a swim in the river. Unfortunately they have forgotten about the important state event that day, and the guests that will be attending...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Scurrilous Rogues

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my headcanon that Glorfindel and Elenwë are brother and sister.

“And that means I can take your last greenstone” said Turukáno triumphantly, picking up the engraved tile from the game board that stood between them. “Which means…" he feigned counting the pile of stones that sat at his elbow as Findekáno yawned and fanning himself in the stuffy heat, “that I have a full colour set of your pieces. I win again!”

“Good for you” said Findekáno flatly, folding his arms. “This is a dull game, anyway.”

Turukáno arched an eyebrow. “I suppose you’d rather be out rolling in the mud or throwing yourself off high cliffs into water the name of _fun,_  or something.”

“As a matter of fact I would. Maybe not rolling in the mud, but swimming would be good on a hot day like today! Come on Turno, you promised that if I played three games of colour stones with you, you would come outside and down Túna to explore the river with me.”

Turukáno sighed. “Fine. But you’d better not push me in the water. I don’t trust you after what happened last time.”

Findekáno raised his hands, grinning. “I solemnly swear that pushing you into any water at all is off-limits. Is that alright?”

“Perfect.”

Not long after, the two of them were whooping and splashing each other in the stream’s clear waters, the dappled light of Laurelin filtering through the branches of the weeping willows that lined the river bank.

“See?” said Findekáno jubilantly, dodging a clump of waterweed Turukáno had aimed to throw at him and retaliating by sending a wave his brother’s way, “I knew you’d enjoy this.”

Turukáno grinned ruefully. “I may concede that you were right. This time.” He lay back in the lazy current, letting his eyes slip closed and the water gently carry him along as his loose hair spread out in damp tendrils.

“I’m  _always_  right” said Findekáno cheerily, lying down in the water and grasping his brother by the foot so that the current carried them along together. “And taking a day off from being princely to go splash around in the water like we did when we were little is always a good decision.”

Just then a fanfare sounded from far off, in the direction of the hill of Túna. Immediately Turukáno sat up, letting his feet touch the bottom of the river. “Finno, what was that?”

Findekáno frowned, getting to his feet, water dripping from his hair. “It sounded like it came from the city gates.” He looked at Turukáno. “Do you know - ”

“The Vanyarin state visit!” exclaimed Turukáno, standing up immediately and smacking himself on the forehead, looking at his brother in horror. “Finno, I forgot it was today!”

“We can still make it back to the palace in time.”

Turukáno grabbed his tunic from the side of the river, covering his face with it in horror. “No we can’t. They’ll be halfway up the hill by the time we get to the gates, and then we need to get back to the palace, and wash, and braid our hair and change into something presentable…” he looked between himself and Findekáno, taking in their bare chests and sodden, unkempt hair, the reeds that clung to Findekáno’s arms.

Findekáno regarded the hill and the train of carriages that they could just make out through the trees, already started to trundle up towards the palace. “We’ve got to try, at least.”

“Come on then” said Turukáno, with a grimace. “But if anyone asks, it’s all your fault.”

———

They arrived, sweaty and out-of-breath, still caked in mud and river reeds, just as the carriages were pulling into the main courtyard of the palace.

“Shhh!” hissed Turukáno, pulling Findekáno back as he peered out from their hiding place in the stables. “If we can just get to the family’s private rooms unnoticed…”

“Slight problem” said Findekáno, pointing across the courtyard in the rough direction of the door to the wing set aside for the royal family. “They’re in the way.”

Turukáno risked a quick glance into the courtyard, taking in the sight of the Vanyarin ambassadors and their train. High lords and ladies all, he remembered hearing, some kin to both his grandmother and to King Ingwë.

They watched surreptitiously as a tall, golden-haired lord dressed in fine, sweeping white robes helped his statuesque wife down the steps from the first carriage.

Turukáno ducked down, running his fingers through his hair in distress. “Eru have mercy, that’s Lord Rilwë and Lady Tarelië.”

Findekáno looked blank. “Who are they…?”

“The most insufferable of grandfather’s powerful acquaintances” said Turukáno. “As you would know if you ever actually bothered paying attention to the guests at state visits, rather than… I don’t know, making eyes at Maitimo from across the throne room the whole time or whatever it is you do.”

“I do not - ”

“Yes you do, Finno.”

Findekáno scowled. “Well, what’s so wrong with these Vanyarin nobles then?”

“They’re very…” Turukáno tailed off, catching his breath as he looked out into the courtyard.

“What?” asked Findekáno curiously, standing up only to be shoved back out of sight by his brother. “Ah! Turno what was that - ”

“Sssh! Look, it’s their children!”

Findekáno peered out, seeing a tall, handsome youth dressed in crisp white climb from the carriage, waist-length golden curls bound back with silver ribbon. It made Findekáno feel dirty and uncouth just to look at him. As the brothers watched, he extended a hand into the carriage, helping a younger woman also dressed in white down from the carriage. She lifted up the hem of her skirt with exquisite grace, showing delicate white satin slippered feet. Her hair was just as bright and golden as his; the two could almost be twins.

“Laurefindil” said Turukáno, pointing. “And his sister, Elenwë.”

“Never heard of them” said Findekáno blithely. “I like their hair though.” He blinked at his brother, whose eyes were still fixed on the carriage. “What’s wrong? Are they as objectionable as their parents?”

Turukáno shook his head slowly. “Laurefindil… I spoke to him once. He’s the best runner on Taniquetil, the best swimmer, the best hunter and archer, and a whole host of other things. I would love to be friends with him, but he’s so…” he tailed off once more. “And Elenwë…” he shook his head, looking pained. “ _Look_  at her, Finno.”

A slow smile curved across Findekáno’s face. “You should see the expression on your face! I do believe you’re half in love with her!”

“I’ve… I’ve never spoken to her” admitted Turukáno. “But I’ve seen her in the library in Tirion. She comes all that way, just to read. And I’ve heard her talking to others and she is the most… the most…” he shook his head, lost for words, staring back at the girl who was speaking softly to the coachman, a laugh ringing across the stone courtyard and a smile lighting her face as her brother leaned over to tell her something.

“You’re a prince, Turno” pointed out Findekáno, gently. “You’re not beneath her station. You should talk to Elenwë. Try, at least.” He nudged him with an elbow. “Why don’t you try to become friends with her? That’s how it’s usually done, isn’t it?”

“Like you have much experience. You’ve been following one person around since birth, practically, and that was Nelyo.”

Findekáno laughed, apparently unconcerned. “So maybe I have. But how about this… talk to Laurefindil. Become friends with him first if you’re too nervous to talk to Elenwë, and then he’ll surely introduce you!”

“We’re not all as valiant as you are, Finno” said Turukáno miserably, looking down at his muddy clothes and skin.

“You don’t need to be! Just be - ”

“Ai, stable boys! Attend to our horses. Look sharp.”

Turukáno blinked up at Lord Rilwë, who had suddenly materialised before the stable doors, the words suddenly frozen in his mouth.

“We’re  _not_ stable boys” said Findekáno indignantly, drawing himself up tall as the real stable hands converged around the beautiful white horses. “I am prince Findekáno, son of Ñolofinwë of the royal house of Finwë, and this is my younger brother prince Turukáno.” He dropped a sweeping bow and then extended a hand to the Vanyarin lord, heedless of his own bedraggled appearance. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Lord Rilwë raised a thin golden eyebrow, his eyes travelling over Findekáno’s bare chest and feet, and the piece of water weed trailing from his unbraided hair. He eyed the proffered hand with distaste. “Do not mock me, you dirty urchin.”

“With respect, he’s telling the truth, my lord” said Turukáno, bowing politely. “We are the grandsons of the high king. We - ”

“Nonsense!” interrupted Rilwë. “Now help your fellows with my horses before I report you for insolence.”

“But - ” began Findekáno, advancing a little and holding out a muddy hand once more.

“Silence!” said Rilwë, recoiling a little. “You know, I think I  _shall_ report you. What are your names?”

“I  _told_  you” said Findekáno, rolling his eyes. “I am prince Findekáno, and this is my brother, prince Turukáno. Go and ask our father if you don’t believe us.”

“How stupid do you think I am?” snarled Rilwë. “You two are unkempt and reprehensible, and… well, I doubt now that you’re even  _real_ stable boys. You’re probably no one at all, aren’t you? I do believe you’re from that awful neighbourhood at the bottom of the hill that we had to pass through on our way. Besides, the prince Findekáno is said to wear his hair in gold-threaded braids, and to be older than his brother. Your hair looks like a bird has been nesting in it, and you’re quite clearly the smaller and less mature of the two.” He loomed over Findekáno, who was glaring up at him with so much defiance in his eyes that Turukáno made to drag his brother back before he did anything ill-advised.

Suddenly, a mischievous grin crossed Findekáno’s face. “You’re right” he said, bowing contritely. “I apologise from the bottom of my wretched heart, my lord. How we ever thought to fool you, I do not know. We must have been quite mad, and we deserve all the punishment you can give us.”

Rilwë’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I ask again; who are you?”

“I am called Úvanimo, and my brother here is called… Holwë.” He grinned, even as Turukáno stamped on his foot. “Forgive us, for we are very savage creatures, not worthy of the grace of your fine presence, sir.”

“Lord” corrected Rilwë stiffly, as Turukáno elbowed Findekáno surreptitiously in the ribs to stifle his laughter. “What… intriguing names.” He frowned. “I have better things to do than bandy words with a pair of gutter rats who have managed to find their way into the palace. Out with you! I wouldn’t trust the likes of you near my horses, anyway.”

“We were  _just leaving_ ” hissed Turukáno, seizing Findekáno by the arm and dragging him hastily to the door.

“Atar” came a voice, even as they rounded the corner at a run, “what are you -  augh!”

And suddenly Findekáno and Turukáno found themselves colliding heavily with Laurefindil, the three of them falling painfully into a struggling heap on the rushes.

“Laurë!” came an alarmed voice from behind them. “Who are these people? And more importantly, what are you doing on the ground?”

Turukáno, slightly dazed, peered out from beneath Findekáno’s arm and blew Laurefindil’s hair from out of his eyes, only to see Elenwë’s face peering down at him in mild bemusement, her mother looking down sternly from behind.

“My lady” he said, wishing more than he ever had in his life that he could sink into the solid ground and disappear. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am - ”

“A scoundrel is what he is!” pronounced Laurefindil, dragging himself free of Findekáno and Turukáno and getting to his feet, trying vainly to brush dirt off his no-longer-white clothes as his mother tutted.

“Really?” asked Elenwë, her face lighting up in wry amusement. “Oh, how exciting! Is he a dreadful rogue?” She smiled brilliantly at Turukáno, making his heart ache. “I daresay Tirion is full of those, unlike Taniquetil. We’re getting the full Ñoldorin experience already!” She looked at him conspiratorially, though she appeared as though she were trying not to laugh. “Are you terribly dastardly? Do you steal from lords and kill wild beasts with your bare hands, like in the tales?”

“I’m not really - ” began Turukáno.

“Yes” blurted out Findekáno gleefully, clapping Turukáno on the shoulder. “Yes, my brother Holwë here is a menace to Valar and Eldar, kelvar and olvar alike. You should see him at his evil schemes! Absolutely uncontrollable he is. No morals whatsoever. I can only  _dream_  of one day matching his… roguishness.”

Lady Tarelië rolled her eyes. “Come away Elenwë, Laurefindil. These young scallywags have wasted enough of our time. Rilwë, the high king of the Ñoldor and his court await our party.”

Findekáno was just about to speak, when there came a voice from outside. “Findekáno! Turukáno!  _There_  you are!” Ethelë was rushing towards them, dressed in his heavy festival robes despite the heat and carrying his flute. He looked flushed, his dark braided hair sticking to his forehead a little with sweat. “Your grandfather the king has the whole court looking for you, us musicians too. He won’t start the reception of the Vanyarin guests without all his grandchildren there. Finno, Maitimo guessed you’d be swimming in the river, but the party they sent down there never found you. Who knew you’d be here all along!” He stopped short, seeming to notice their appearance at the same time as he saw the Vanyarin family grouped around them. “Um” he said, looking from one face to another in puzzlement. “Finno, Turno… what…”

Rilwë was staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Tell your king” he said to the young flautist, “that his royal stables have an infestation of city scum.”

“No, no, no” said Ethelë, shaking his head. “There must be some mistake. These are the princes Findekáno and Turukáno, who are…” he paused counting for a moment on his fingers, “…tenth and eleventh in line for the throne, respectively.” He shuffled his feet. “I think. Anyway, their grandfather wants them for the official greeting ceremony. And, my lords and ladies, if you would like to make your way to the entrance hall…”

Turukáno took a moment to savour the expressions on the guests’ faces. Rilwë and Tarelië were both gaping open-mouthed at Ethelë, their eyes flicking to Turukáno and Findekáno and back again in pure disbelief and what looked a little like outrage.

Laurefindil was staring at Ethelë too, but there was something else in his eyes, all the proud haughtiness gone, replaced by a sort of fascination, Turukáno thought. “And who is the messenger who brings us these tidings?” asked Laurefindil. “Are you also a prince of the house of Finwë?”

Ethelë laughed, and dropped a bow to Laurefindil. “Alas, no, I am only a court musician and the son of a minor lordly house. For now. My name is Ethelë. Pleased to meet you.” He clasped arms with Laurefindil, and Turukáno could not help but notice their eyes meet and lock for a longer time than would be considered strictly proper.

Elenwë, he saw, appeared to have noticed too, for she was staring at her brother shrewdly, that small, amused smile on her face again. “Brother” she said, pushing him forward a little. “Why don’t you let this young messenger… ah… conduct you to the palace. I’m sure someone can lend you a change of clothes there. I will stay here with Atar and Amil, and our esteemed hosts…” she looked Findekáno and Turukáno up and down, fighting back laughter. “I am sure we shall get along just fine without you.”

“Um” said Laurefindil, blushing beneath the fine coating of dust that now covered him.

“I think we can find some clean clothes to fit you in time for the ceremony.” Ethelë smiled too, and bowed once more, offering Laurefindil his arm. “Shall we?”

Mutely, Laurefindil took the proffered arm and followed him, leaving Turukáno wondering if what he thought had happened had not been his imagination.

“Now, Elenwë” said Tarelië, “we should take our leave and let these… ah…  _princes_ … prepare too.” She gave them a sceptical look. “I’m sure the court has missed them.”

Elenwë grinned and dropped what Turukáno was certain was a faintly ironic curtsy. “Until the next time then, princes.”

When they were gone, Findekáno let out a whoop of laughter and clapped Turukáno on the back. “Can you believe that really happened?”

“I’m attempting to stay in denial” said Turukáno dryly.

“Oh, come on. You wanted to get to know Elenwë; now you have!”

“Mmm” said Turukáno, but he couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. “I suppose there is that.”

“There is indeed. Now come on” said Findekáno. “Let’s go and greet our guests in a proper, princely manner.”

Turukáno sighed resignedly. “Lead on, Finno.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fingon and Turgon’s aliases, Úvanimo and Holwë, mean “ugly” and “stinky” respectively.


End file.
